


No Sun But Her Lantern

by Llewcie



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bodily harm (temporary), F/M, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Monsters in the dark, Pre-Canon, Prompt Fic, Supernatural Elements, Underground Baltimore, Violence, Why is the meat not people, dinner date, surgeon!Hannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 14:50:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16348754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llewcie/pseuds/Llewcie
Summary: Hannibal murders a woman. They go out for dinner. Yes, in that order.





	No Sun But Her Lantern

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittleBluejay_SingingSongs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleBluejay_SingingSongs/gifts).



> This is a prompt fill for LittleBluejay_SingingSongs, who very generously donated/commissioned so that I could afford to purchase the Hue-manity Calendar this year! Thank you for your kindness and generosity. 
> 
> Prompt: Hannibal meets a woman and they go on a dinner date.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter hadn’t really decided on Baltimore until he found the house at 5 Chandler Square. He certainly had plenty of connections from Johns Hopkins, and the opera scene was excellent. All of these things he could have cultivated somewhere else, had he wanted to, although starting entirely over at thirty years of age was less than desirable. No, it was the house. Specifically the basement and the tunnels that connected the basement to the rest of underground Baltimore.

He had discovered the existence of the Baltimore underground while he was in his first year of medical school. The enormous network of tunnels, vaults, underground storage, and other unknown structures had been used by rum runners during Prohibition, possibly for moving humans to freedom during the time of the Underground Railroad, and before then? Who knew? Since 1729, buildings had been built upon buildings, basements became sub-basements, passages became tunnels, became forgotten. 

It was an ideal playground. The hospital and teaching school were connected to it in several places, and students used the tunnels regularly to avoid traffic between buildings. Hannibal had discovered dark entryways that led like catacombs away from the light and warm places. In fact, it reminded him so much of Paris and the ease with which he could traverse the city with a body or two that he felt a powerful affinity. He wanted to stay here.

And now he could.

The first years were spent on the dangerous work of clearing out tunnels that had shed bricks and debris from floods and unstable structures. He learned quite a bit about how mineshafts were shored up, and became quite inventive with the sourcing of materials for the work. When he was not working long shifts in the ER or out hunting, he was down in the depths, sometimes miles from his home, cleaning, discovering, and mapping his musty, dark kingdom.

To be sure, there were people to be found in the tunnels. Hannibal learned to avoid the more populated areas, and for those unlucky souls who came across him in the dark? Well, these were catacombs too. Many bodies rested here that he had not placed. Who would know the difference if one or two were missing a piece? 

So it not was entirely surprising that he came across a fellow spelunker and explorer in the dark, somewhere under Powder Mill Park. What did surprise him was that they paid him absolutely no attention at all as he walked through the gloom towards their dim red tunnel light. He was even making noise as a courtesy of predator to prey. Until.

“Hold it right there. You’re about to step into a vertical shaft that drops at least two stories.” They held out their hand to him. “I’m Maddy. Nice to meet you.” A serious face looked back at him, pale with dark circles under her eyes. Her thick hair was tied back and tucked under a hardhat crowned with a light, which she had kindly switched off as she turned in his direction.

He stared down at his feet. Now that he was close enough, he could easily smell the cold, dank air from below. How had he not noticed it before? The light must have distracted him. He took her hand. “Hannibal Lecter. Likewise.” Now why did he give her his real name? He took a quick inventory of his faculties, but he seemed to be thinking clearly. She shot him a distracted smile and let him look after himself as she hoisted herself up on a ladder. 

After a moment of struggling with what seemed to be a hatch above her, she looked back at him. “Actually, would you mind helping me with this?”

And honestly, Hannibal Lecter had a choice now. He could help this strange woman called Maddy, or he could get rid of witnesses to his presence down here. He weighed pros and cons as he stepped over the shaft opening, careful to steady one foot before he brought the other over. Maddy squeezed herself into the ladder, and he pressed up behind her. Her body was quite small under his. He reached up to press against the hatch, and then pressed harder. A ripping groan of metal tearing from its rusty bed shrieked down the passageway.

It was just enough to cover the sound of the girl’s screams as she plunged into the shaft beneath them, her bones snapping audibly on the stones below.

Perhaps it was low of him, he thought as he walked back. After all, she could have been perfectly reasonable about keeping his secret. He was certain that something might have been found to insure her silence on his nocturnal activities. And if he were being honest with himself, which he always tried to be, it had been his fault in the first place, for telling her his name.

Well, he thought cheerfully. Lesson learned. 

The iron door to his basement opened soundlessly to his key. He sighed, stretching his shoulders. Tomorrow was a long shift in the ER.

“That was quite rude, Mr. Lecter.”

Hannibal stopped breathing, his entire body attuned to the impossible sight in front of him. Maddy, the girl he had just murdered, was sitting on his surgery table, swinging her legs back and forth. Her pants were torn at the knee, and her pale cheeks were dirty. And she looked irritated.

“Doctor, actually.” His body began moving again, automatically, as he filtered active possibilities. One, she was a hallucination. Unlikely. Two, she was a ghost. Not entirely unprecedented. Three, she had somehow survived and beaten him here. It was possible that there were other tunnels that he had not mapped. Four, she was something Other. He closed and locked the tunnel door. 

She glanced at her nails, frowning when she found one broken. She held it up. “This is also your fault.”

He spread his hands. “What could I do to make it up to you?”

She tilted her head. Now that he was looking, he could see that her eyes were reflective, more like a cat than a human. The fourth possibility was looking more and more probable. “Take me to dinner. Saturday at 8.”

“Dinner?” Hannibal was not expecting this.

“A nice dinner. Not some chain restaurant where the head chef is a microwave.” She looked at him thoughtfully. “Posh. Champagne and caviar and those fancy little pancake things.”

“Blini?” he offered dubiously.

She pointed at him. “You know it.”

Totally nonplussed, he attempted to regain control of the conversation. “I would be pleased to cook for you. I am something of a chef.”

She grinned at him then. Her teeth were much sharper than they were supposed to be. “I never go on a first date to a man’s house. Don’t you know it’s not safe?” 

“Date?” 

But he was talking to an empty basement. She had vanished between one breath and the next.

***

Hannibal Lecter was not an easy man to spook. He was the thing that went bump in the night, and profoundly disagreed with being the bumpee. But he had agreed to a date with a girl that he had murdered, and if there was one thing Hannibal Lecter was not, it was rude. So on Saturday evening, he dressed in one of his nicest dinner suits, the pale taupe with the thin blue tartan, with a gold and blue tie and blue waistcoat. The scalpel was tucked into his left sleeve, and another went into a small sheath on his sock garter. 

There was a knock on the door. He opened it with a practiced smile.

“Hello, Hannibal Lecter.” 

“Hello, Maddy. I thought you might come in through the basement.” He stood aside to let her come in, which she did. She was dressed in a gold sheath, large heavy gold loops in her ears. Her hair was lush and thick and impressively curly, and he could see in the light of his porch lamp that she had olive undertones, though faded.

She looked archly at him. “Some people have manners.”

“Indeed,” he rejoined. “Perhaps the rest of us could be taught.”

“Hmm,” she replied, as if she doubted that. “Where are we going?”

“I never tell. It spoils the surprise.”

She narrowed her eyes, giving him a calculated stare. “I’m not certain I like your surprises.”

He grinned, all teeth. “I hope that you will like this one better than the last.”

She didn’t deign to reply, but allowed him to take her hand and lead her out of the door, which was more than he probably deserved.

***

They ended up at La Cuchara, Hannibal’s favorite place for Basque and tapas in the entire city of Baltimore. Maddy looked grudgingly impressed as he pulled out her chair for her. “I can never get a table here,” she groused.

“I once treated the head chef for a gunshot wound,” he informed her.

“Oh? And did he inform you on the operating table of his status here?”

Hannibal scowled at her. He had indeed found out after the surgery, and made a point of having the conversation as the man had been recovering. It wasn’t unusual to do such a thing, but Maddy made it sound so… crass. Grasping. He reached for a subject change, but she beat him to it.

“I know you are dying to know, Hannibal, but I’m going to make you ask.” She looked at him slyly, her dark eyes narrowed. She was not lovely, he decided, but when animated, her features were quite compelling. She had an ageless look to her, like one of the Fayum mummy portraits. He was both mildly flustered and intrigued that she had the advantage of him. It was a novel feeling.

To be contrary, instead of asking right away, he perused the menu, answering her questions about what everything was, discussing the wine choices with the sommelier, and finally ordering. He made polite chit chat about the weather with her until he could see her composure cracking around the edges. She frowned at him.

“There’s no caviar on the menu.”

“This is Basque food. If you want caviar, you’ll have to eat it at my home.”

“You’d like that, would you?”

He was starting to admit, at least to himself, that yes, he actually would. Settling down after the first pour of the night, he leaned in slightly. “Shall we play twenty questions? Or should I tell you what I know, and what I have guessed?”

Her eyes lit up. “Oh by all means, tell me what you know.”

A soft smile lit his features. “I couldn’t smell you in the dank air of the tunnels, but I can smell you quite clearly here.”

She looked uncertain, as if he was accusing her of something. “What do I smell like?”

“Earth. Water from the deep places.” He took a deep inhale, filtering out the smells of the food and people around them. “Embers gone cold. Places that have never seen the sun.”

Her eyes slowly became wider, the more he spoke. “How could you possibly smell all of that?”

Hannibal took a small sip of his wine. “I have acute hyperosmia.”

“Which is?” She copied his sip. In fact, now that he was paying attention, she had copied his behaviour here since they had come in. She didn’t trust herself to behave properly, or didn’t know how. He filed that away.

“I have an unusually acute sense of smell. It is considered a disorder, although I have not found it to be an arduous burden.”

She looked at him thoughtfully. “You would have to have an extensive background to be able to identify all of those things. And an amazing memory.” This was true, so he didn’t reply. Eventually, she prodded him. “Go on, then. What else?”

“I definitely heard your bones break. And yet, you managed to be in my basement before me. Which could mean one of a few things.” He took a breath. “Either you are generally non-corporeal but can manifest a body at will…”

The server interrupted to bring them platters of food, setting each dish carefully down and explaining what it was. Maddy was gritting her overly-sharp teeth throughout, nodding with strained politeness. After the server had gone, she leaned in. “Or?”

“Or you are corporeal, but you can influence people to… lose time. Which would explain how you got to my basement: by following me, slipping in as I opened the door, and perching yourself on my operating table. Except I know that your injuries were quite serious.”

“Familiar with the sound of bones breaking, are we, doctor?”

He allowed a small smile, and nodded his head in acknowledgement. They fell silent, and enjoyed the meal for a while. Each dish was gone faster than the last. Maddy ate like she was starving, and trying not to show it. Hannibal carefully didn’t notice that she practically inhaled the lamb shoulder, and didn’t share the mushrooms or the scallops. If there was one thing he understood, it was hunger. 

When she finally paused from inhaling their dinner, she looked up sheepishly. “Sorry. I get hungry.”

“Someone’s not taking care of you.”

She looked away. “Anyway, what’s your conclusion?”

He shrugged. “I don’t have one, Maddy. I hoped that perhaps you could enlighten me.”

Maddy chewed the inside of her mouth for a moment. Hannibal wondered if her molars were as sharp as her incisors. Bloody business, if so. Likely fed on meat. He wondered if they had more in common than he had at first thought.

Finally, she sighed. “We were supposed to be Hecate’s companions in the dark places.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You are of the lampades?”

She looked surprised that he knew the name. Her voice softened. “All the dark places belong to Hecate.” She rubbed at a watermark on the table. “Or they used to. But we aren’t the only monsters in the dark anymore.” She glanced at him pointedly. He grinned back at her, unexpectedly pleased.

“I have to admit, it is flattering to be called a monster by one of the ancient nymph races. If I remember correctly, it’s your lamp which makes people lose their minds.”

“Used to.” Her scowl took on a tinge of melancholy. “Now it makes people forget, but only for a little while. And we do heal, but we’re so hungry after.” She eyed the food left on the table. “Hannibal, this is all very good, but… it’s not the right kind of food.”

“Really.” His dark heart swelled with something he barely recognised-- it felt like the opposite of loneliness. He stood up and offered his hand to her. She took it hesitantly, and he squeezed her cold fingers. “I think I might have something more suitable for you at home, if you would honor me with your company.”

For a long moment, he thought that perhaps she would refuse. When she smiled, it was with a brilliant joy that made his heart pound a bit faster. “I don’t often change my policy. For you, Hannibal, I think I just might.”


End file.
